Lecter Psychiatry
by John Lee Hawk
Summary: When Hannibal moves to a new place and sets up a practice there, he sees his first patient: Sam from Garden State. He accepts her eccentricity, supposedly to help her, but Sam realizes that Dr. Hannibal Lecter may not be completely benevolent.


10

Lecter Psychiatry

(I do not own Hannibal or Garden State. There will be a disclaimer at the end)

Hannibal looked around, admiring his new practice. Having recently moved, he was glad to have finally settled. He was glad to have everything organized, so creating such a calm and orderly atmosphere. The walls, furniture, and bookshelves radiated a drab aura to visitors, and during the day, Hannibal kept it dim. He preferred it dim, feeling more at home in the shadows.

Looks were important to Hannibal. He understood how significant perception was to the human species. At nearly fifty, Hannibal paid as much attention to how he looked as he did to his practice. His straight hair was well-groomed, his suit was creased and clean – with no wrinkles – and his shoes were always shined.

That particular day, he had only one patient. A young girl in her early twenties. From what Hannibal knew, she had a job, she lived with her mother, and she had epilepsy. She also seemed to be a pathological liar, but wanted treatment for it. That was where Hannibal, the psychiatrist, came in.

"Hello, Samantha," Hannibal greeted. "My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"Hi," she replied. "You can just call me Sam."

"Very well. You may come in, now."

Hannibal began leading Sam back into his practice when she spoke up, again.

"I also go by Tommy."

Hannibal looked at her for a second.

"Really?"

"No," she replied.

"Right, pseudologia fantastica. In layman's terms, pathological lying."

"That doesn't mean I like it," Sam said.

"Of course not," Hannibal replied. "Why else would you be seeking my help for it."

They both sat down.

"So, how long have you been a shrink?" Sam suddenly asked.

"For a good amount of time," Hannibal responded.

"Were you always into psychology?"

"I started out as a surgeon," Hannibal admitted.

"Wow!" Sam exclaimed. "That's really cool. Like one of those TV doctors?"

"Not exactly."

"Why'd you switch?"

"I decided I was more interested in the mind," Hannibal said. "Now, you're paying me to listen to you for an hour. If you want to get your money's worth, I recommend you tell me about yourself, instead of the other way around."

Hannibal had seen many people like Sam. He suspected she had a form of ADD or ADHD along with her pathological lying. She was energetic, easily-distracted, and had poor social skills in general. A typical case for Hannibal, really. Most people would get irritated or angry with Sam, but Hannibal seemed professional enough not to. That was also why people like Sam were so easy to manipulate, so easy to gain trust. She was the kind of person looking for a friend, for somebody to trust. Just the kind of person for a predator to manipulate.

"I just hear things in my head, and I say them, and then I realize, 'wow, where was not a shred of truth in there," Sam told Hannibal.

"Your condition is not uncommon in people with epilepsy," Hannibal replied. "Can I ask, how do you think epilepsy has affected your life."

"Well, I _still_ live with my mom and her two Dobermans," Sam began. "I keep a special helmet in my purse because my bosses won't let me work unless they feel they can't get sued if I have a seizure, there."

"Do you feel you have missed out on a lot of experiences as a result of your disorder?" Hannibal asked.

"Honestly, there were a lot of experiences – things people call 'normal' experiences that I wish I'd never gone through," Sam replied. "Although, my mom says I could've made it to the Olympics ice-skating if it weren't for the epilepsy."

Hannibal was not sure if that was true or part of her compulsive lying. The session went on, and ended eventually, as they all do. Later, when Hannibal was leaving for the day, he saw Sam sitting by a bench.

"Are you waiting for somebody?" he asked, catching her off-guard.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "My boyfriend's picking me up. He's got this motorcycle, it's like a Harley or something."

Hannibal nodded, then started walking away, before he stopped and suddenly turned around.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Sam?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. That story had been a manifestation of her condition.

"Do you have a way of getting home?" Hannibal inquired. Sam shrugged.

"I was trying to figure that out."

They spend a moment silently staring at each other, Hannibal's inquisitive gaze contrasting Sam's innocent doe-eyed glance.

"This is the part where you ask me if I want a ride back home," Sam suddenly said. Hannibal smirked, just slightly.

"Really?"

Sam nodded.

"Alright," Hannibal decided. "Would you like me to drive you home?"

Sam sighed.

"Okay, fine," she said with theatrical reluctance. Sam was starting to interest Hannibal. She certainly was proving to be more engaging than most of his patients. She was also much more trusting than Hannibal expected her to be.

As they walked to Hannibal's car, they may have seemed as if they were contrasts of humanity; Hannibal being a tall male wearing a tailored, three-piece suit with an expensive overcoat and Sam being a short female wearing blue jeans, a pink hoodie, and a grey denim jacket.

"Just, like, promise me you won't kidnap me or something," Sam said as she closed the car door. "My dad's in the mafia, so he'd hunt you down. He'd find you if something happened to me."

Hannibal chuckled, slightly. Now that anecdote had to have been untrue, another pathological lie.

"I'm sure you have no reason to fear me," he replied. The drive was not that long, and Hannibal figured Sam probably could have walked if she wanted to. Still, he did not really mind.

"So, do you, like, really 'read' people?" Sam asked as she got out of the car.

"I observe," Hannibal replied, getting out of the car at the same time. He figured it would be chivalrous to get the door for her. However, as he opened the door, Sam's aforementioned Dobermans charged, barking their heads off.

"Down!" Sam screamed at her dogs. Hannibal reacted out of instinct, grabbing both dogs before they could do much damage.

"Just kick them in the balls," Sam told Hannibal. "That'll get them to stop."

Somebody whistled, and the dogs backed off. An older woman then appeared.

"Hi Mom," Sam greeted. "This is Dr. Lector."

"Oh, hi. You must be Sam's new therapist."

"I drove Sam home," Hannibal said.

"Oh, why thank you," Sam's mother replied. Hannibal looked around, and saw hamster tunnels and pet crates all over the place. Hannibal also saw a Christmas tree they had never gotten around to taking down, and could hear a cat somewhere. So, Sam's family loved animals.

"Sam, you forgot to feed Mr. Crawford," Sam's mother said.

"Oh, no!" Sam frantically replied. "I'm sorry!"

"Well, there's nothing we can do for him now. He died. I'm about to run some errands, and I'm going to need you to bury him before the dogs eat him."

Hannibal was very well-equated with death, but even this was starting to make him feel a little uncomfortable. He could definitely see Sam got her eccentricity from her mother.

"I'll be back soon," Sam's mother said before leaving. Hannibal figured it was time for him to leave, too.

"Want to see my room?" Sam suddenly asked, eerily cheerful. Hannibal stared at her, silently, for a moment.

"Sure," he said. Eccentrics liked to be indulged. He began following her up the stairs when a well-dressed black man started walking down the staircase.

"This is my brother, Titembay," Sam said. "Titembey, this is Dr. Lecter."

"Hello there," Titembey said with a distinct African accent, before shaking Hannibal's hand. "Excuse me, I'm late for class."

"He's studying Criminal Justice," Sam said as Titembey left. That had Hannibal a little bit concerned, but he did not show it.

"I'm curious, Sam," Hannibal began as Sam led him into her room. "Is Titembey your adopted brother?"

"Yeah, we started corresponding through a Save-the-Children group thing," Sam replied. "Then we kind of forgot about him, then we got a call saying he was here, and needed a place to stay. So, we took him in."

So, Sam's family was quite trusting. And also seemed to have a nurturing streak, considering how many animals they owned. Hannibal sat down on Sam's bed as they continued to talk. Sam seemed to open herself up a lot more in here, which was exactly what Hannibal was hoping for. From a professional point of view, that would probably help her treatment.

"We're not going to make out, are we?" Sam asked at one point. Hannibal blinked.

"Excuse me," he asked calmly.

"We're not going to start making out, are we?" Sam asked again.

"No," Hannibal replied. "That would cross a major line, for a psychiatrist to do that with a patient."

"Okay."

"Plus, I'm much too old for you," Hannibal added. Sam laughed.

"You know what I do when I'm feeling completely unoriginal?" she asked before getting up, and making both a weird dance and high-pitched yet guttural sound while doing so. Now, that was something Hannibal was not familiar with.

"I… I make a noise or do something that no one has ever done before and then I can feel unique again even if it's only for like… a second," she explained.

"So, being unique is important to you?" Hannibal asked.

"I mean, you just witnessed a completely original moment in human history. It's refreshing, you should try it."

Hannibal tried to graciously decline.

"C'mon, what are you, shy?" Sam asked with an intense tone. "This is your one opportunity to do something that no one has done before and no one will copy for the rest of human existence. And if nothing else, you'll be remembered… as the one guy, who ever did this. This one thing."

If only Sam knew about Hannibal's secret little hobby. Hannibal had certainly done some things nobody would copy, in his lifetime. He took a deep breath. Eccentrics really did like to be indulged. He waved his arms and torso around like an inflatable waving tube man, making a monotone groan as he did so. Sam laughed again.

"Oh, I've done that," she said. Hannibal laughed, too, hiding the mortification he felt.

"Well, I've got to bury my dead hamster before the dogs eat him," Sam declared, before exiting the room. Hannibal was tempted to leave, but he was curious what he could divulge from her disposal of a dead pet. Sam carried the box acting as her hamster's coffin outside, and Hannibal noticed there was an improvised pet cemetery in the backyard.

"It's not that we're bad pet owners," Sam said. "It's just that animals die. Plus most of them are fish."

Hannibal nodded.

"Animals are born, and then die," he said. "Just as humans are born, then die. People forget that humans are animals, too. All of them are simply living organisms trying to live, to delay death."

Sam and Hannibal both sat down on the ground as she began digging a small hole for her dead hamster.

"You seem so defensive about your hamster's death," Hannibal observed. "So quick to point out you didn't kill him. That he died from not getting enough food."

Sam just stared at him.

"You don't want to be thought of as a killer," Hannibal continued. "You feel guilty for what happened to your pet, by accident. Perhaps you don't like the idea of killing something?"

Sam did not know how to respond to that.

"Do you ever eulogize your animals?" Hannibal asked. Sam nodded, and spent a moment giving a heartfelt farewell to the rodent she used to take care of.

"There are some people who enjoy killing," Hannibal picked back up, startling Sam. "Of course, you didn't kill your pet. He starved to death."

"I just don't get the idea of somebody enjoying… killing, Doctor," Sam finally said.

"Killing feels good to them," Hannibal continued. "Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, like with your hamster. And are we not created in his image?"

"I… kinda don't believe in God," Sam replied.

"That's fine. For some, it's just a concept."

"Why would God feel good about that?" Sam asked. "About killing?"

"Maybe he felt powerful," Hannibal replied. "Maybe people who enjoy killing feel powerful."

Despite Sam's natural cheerfulness, there was something about Hannibal's calm face and dead brown eyes that started to worry her.

"But like I said, you didn't kill your hamster," Hannibal said, getting up off of the ground. "God did, if he exists. So, shall I see you next week, Sam?"

"Y… yeah," she murmured back. Hannibal nodded.

"Goodbye, then."

As Hannibal walked around her house to the car, Sam could see a cold aura radiating off of Hannibal Lecter that contrasting the warm, vibrant environment he walked in that sent chills down Sam's spine.

I do not own Hannibal or Garden State. Hannibal is owned by Thomas Harris and NBC. Garden State is owned by Zach Braff.


End file.
